


Time Doll

by ArtSy (Sywen)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Androids, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Paris (City), Post-Apocalypse, Short Story, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:00:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29766222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sywen/pseuds/ArtSy
Summary: Emma is a Doll. A human-made creature, ruled by time through a simple chain of cogs. On a warm fall evening, she's waiting on a train, waiting to hold and spend time with her best friend one last time. Willow is not ready to let go, as Emma's life span is coming to an end, prepared to fight the entire world to save her. For the better or worse, some things cannot be changed, but it doesn't mean the way there has to be painful too."She reopened her eyes with sadness. That ticking sound had always seemed familiar and comforting to her, yet today it seemed far too heavy with meaning. Her life and death summed up in a hollow ticking that drew everything it touched towards the void."





	Time Doll

**Author's Note:**

> This short-story was cross-posted on Wattpad.

**_Year 350, Vendémiaire 28th. Twelve days before the shutdown_ **

The sun was setting over Paris when the train entered the station, bringing a large layer of steam in its wake. It invaded the great hall for a few seconds before dissipating in the early evening's pink light. The wheels clacked steadily on the rails, adding to the city's continuous ticking sound characteristic, relentlessly echoing the ticking of Emma's own heart. She closed her eyes for a few seconds as the train's rhythm slowed down with a loud squeaky sound, letting the eternal sound of a clock overwhelm her. Emma was a Doll. An artificial intelligence whose entire existence was driven by a simple chain of cogs. A doll ruled by time, manmade for the sole purpose of serving. While dolls were initially intended to work where human labour could not get to, they now served wherever humans could be avoided. Emma had been saved, raised as a human. Lucky for her, she couldn't deny it. She reopened her eyes with sadness. That sound had always seemed familiar and comforting to her, yet today it seemed far too heavy with meaning. Her life and death summed up in a hollow ticking that drew everything it touched towards the void.

"Emma!"

Startled, she turned around just in time to see Willow throw herself at her. She took a step back from the hug, and, for a second, she drowned into the human's smile. Willow was her only family. She was well aware of the heavy feeling peeking behind euphoria. Still, when she replied with a smile, there was no doubt, it radiated sincerity.

"I missed you," she said with an affectionate tone.

********

Like every single night since Emma's earliest childhood memory, that night was dead quiet. For as long as she could remember, the upper town had always been quiet, much unlike the lively lower districts. Downstairs, the heartbeat of Paris could be heard loud and clear, an overpowering ticking, filling the streets restlessly. The lives of all the inhabitants there were punctuated by shouting and laughter. When she sat on the rooftops at night to watch the lower districts' lights, she could almost feel the innocent perkiness that escaped from the streets and flew up to the false sky of the dome. An eternity passed while she sat there, staring at the lower city. Behind her, Willow hadn't uttered a word for several minutes. She shivered in the numb atmosphere.

"I'd like to go down to the fair tomorrow," Emma said after a long silence, her legs swinging in the air. She received no response, and the overwhelming atmosphere seemed to thicken further. When they were children, her friend was always the first to run away from home to explore the city. It was unbearable that today everything was so different. Especially when she knew she was the reason for this tension. This roof, her roof, had never been the scene of tragedy or discomfort. It had always been the only place in this neighbourhood she deemed alive. It was home, the place where the drunkenness of their laughter rose to fill the empty streets.

"Wil?" she called, turning to her best friend for a moment. She was still staring at the black expanse above their heads. Eventually, Willow closed her eyes and sighed before standing up to look back at her. "I heard of a man who might be able to help you." Emma was the one closing her eyes at those words. Here they were. She wasn't ready for that talk. "I don't want to have to bury you," Willow continued as she felt the discomfort take root. "Let me find a solution for you." Emma sighed. "There's nothing you can do about it, and you know it, I'm broken. At the end of my life. Pretty much already dead." Willow gulped, left the comfort of her blanket to sit on the roof's edge and gently grabbed the doll's head in her hands. "It's a mechanism, Emma, just like any clock! There's got to be a solution! Just trust me. Give me a chance to keep you alive."

Emma sighed. She wasn't sure why she eventually nodded. Was it to avoid the subject? Was it because she didn't want to inflict any pain on her friend or because deep down, she wanted to believe they would find a solution? But she finally nodded with a smile, letting her head find its way to her best friend's shoulder.

**_Year 350, Vendémiaire 29th. Eleven days before the shutdown_ **

The next morning, Willow obediently let Emma lead her to the third district's fair. It was quite funny how the roles had changed. Emma wanted her adventure; she wanted it now. It was probably her last chance, after all. From the upper city, it took two elevators to get down to the third floor of Paris. The journey from the twentieth to the fifteenth through the upper town was always a fairytale sight. An all-glass capsule carried its passengers down with a sweeping view of the city. From there, Paris could be seen as nowhere else. The city's layout had even been expressly modified a few years earlier to give visitors the best possible view of the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe. Each of them proudly dominating one of the historic districts of the old city. After a few steps on the middle floor, a second elevator took over to the bottom. Nowhere near as luxurious, it was an old iron and wooden installation. In there, the only protection between the passenger and the void was an old, rusty barrier. Legend had it that when the elevator was built from levels 1 to 15, it was the country's most luxurious equipment. To Emma, it wasn't the easiest urban legend to imagine. Below floor one, trapped in cramped tunnels of old mines and subways, real hell existed in the form of a shelter for the dispossessed. The ones nobody ever even mentioned. The ones who did not exist, although the high crime rate and the unsanitary living environment there were very real. According to the official discourse, it was the price to afford such agreeable living conditions to the rest of the population. 

The doors grated as they opened on the half-shaded main square on level three, bringing her back to reality. She got carried away by a gentle heatwave as she stepped out and had to make a serious effort not to extend her arms and twirl between the spots of shadow and light like in some romantic comedy. She stopped in a ray of sunshine to enjoy a little more of the subdued brightness, dimed by the many floors above them. She closed her eyes with a smile and immersed herself in the carnival of sounds she had been longing to hear again. "If you're here for sunbathing, you're aware it is easier upstairs, right?" Willow said with a smile.

Emma opened her eyelids when Willow's voice followed her out of the elevator, and she smiled tenderly as she immersed herself a little more in the atmosphere of the first floors. "There's a lot more than just light here. Dare look me in the eyes and tell me this doesn't bring back a thousand memories."

The human feigned a sulky pout and sighed, but soon, letting a radiant smile invade her worried features, she shook her head with a laugh. "I'd be lying."

Satisfied with her answer, Emma took a joyful step in the direction of the market, leaving Willow behind her. The gaze of the latter once again tinged with anxiety as she watched her walk away. How could she be so carefree? As she finally decided to follow her friend slowly, a cloud hid the substitute sun far, far above their heads, plunging the place into almost total darkness. "Here we go," she whispered to herself.

At the lowest levels of Paris, the rain never came at the same time as the downpour. You could hear the thunder rumbling and the clacking of the heaviest rains far above, but it would take hours for the humidity to make its way between the floors. Unfortunately, the ventilation was old and inefficient, and the weeks following major storms were hard on the residents. At this very moment, though, wandering through the streets of level three was the most pleasant thing in the world. Lit by lanterns and garlands, lulled by the faint sound of clapping almost muffled by the ticking coming up from the depths of the city, and wrapped in the gentle heat produced by the factories that heated the city, it felt like being gently wrapped in a cocoon. Emma wandered through the streets, overwhelmed by images of two little girls running through them, chasing some imaginary adventure long before. She hadn't felt so alive in ages.

But this moment of elation was destined to end. Too soon, Willow invited Emma to follow her to level five. The man they were looking for was named Nate Nephins, who was thought to be the best clockmaker on the lower levels. Finding him so low down in the social hierarchy surprised her. Clearly, Willow knew where to look. She swallowed her curiosity as to how, her pride, and focused on the fact that her friend was only trying to protect her. When they arrived at the small watch shop in the slums, the tinkling bell and the various mechanisms decorating shelves and walls seemed a portal to the heart of the world. The perfectly tuned tick-tock of the clocks resonated in the small, cluttered space.

"Hello?" called Emma shyly. "Hello…" She stopped at the sight of a young man in his thirties coming out of the back room. Not the profile of a master Maker if you asked her. "May I help you?"

"Dr Nephins?" she asked. "What do you want?" The young man froze; his tone was defiant. He had pronounced these words with suspicion, his hand slipping imperceptibly under the counter. "We've heard of a retired former Maker, Nate Nephins, who lives in the lower town. Do you know him? Please, we need him."

A well-known red-headed girl had just hurried past her and was sputtering, hope glistening in her eyes. The watchmaker sighed and withdrew his hand from under the counter. Although still suspicious, he relaxed a little. "Doctor Nephins has been dead for years, and if your problem is with a doll, I'm afraid we're not in a position to help you. My family has been done with dolls for years."

Emma approached the counter and pulled her braided hair forward before turning around, showing off the mechanism in her neck. "I don't have a key. In eleven days, I'm going to stop. Doctor Nephins is my only hope."

The young man stared for a moment at the small dial inlaid in her skin, continuing its course towards her end. His gaze glided over the lock allowing the doll to be wind up again, and an upset gleam passed through his eyes. He sighed and looked away, staring at the wall in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I really am. I wish I could do something for you, but I can't."

She felt her insides tighten and her throat close in on the air, desperately trying to make its way to her non-existent lungs. Before she had time to regain control and say anything, Willow had thrown herself forward.

"I'm begging you. I know you have no reason to want to help us. But please think about it. If the roles were reversed, what would you..."

"Stop it!" Emma cut her short. She turned to the man. "I understand, sir; thank you for your time. We're sorry to have bothered you."

As she turned around and left, the watchmaker continued to stare at Willow, frozen near the counter. As she finally turned away, he gulped. "Soul square, level sixteen, tomorrow at eleven o'clock." When she turned back, her heart leaping in her chest, the other person's gaze was conscientiously examining a burn mark on the wooden countertop.

"I can't promise you anything, but I'll talk to him." He took a quick look at her before he started again. "The man you're looking for is called Peter. Peter Harrison Nephin."

"Thank you. Thank you." Whispered Willow before running away after her friend.

**_Year 350, Vendémiaire 30th. Ten days before the shutdown_ **

Emma was still lying in bed, growling and muttering she needed more sleep, but Willow was ready when the first rays of sunshine broke through the windows. "Get up in there!" she exclaimed before leaving the room like a tornado.

When the doll finally came down to the kitchen, breakfast was ready. She yawned, wrapped in her duvet, and she sat at the end of the table, watching a high spirited Willow finishing preparing pancakes before joining her.

“What if he doesn't come?” she asked.

"He will come," replied Willow in a confident tone.

"Yes. But if it's not the…"

"He'll come," she cut her cold.

As Emma looked closer, she realised her friend's hands were shaking as she contained threatening, overwhelming anxiety to the best of her ability. She watched her for a moment and rose from her seat, walking around the table to join her. Just as she was about to put a comforting hand on her shoulder and tell her everything would be alright, she stopped. Silent. Because deep down, she knew there was nothing she could say to calm her down. She just put a kiss on her forehead and passed by her.

"We should get ready if we want to make it on time," she said, hoping that going along would help her friend hold on.

The journey to the sixteenth was heavy with silence. Emma feigned a sudden boundless interest in their destination, far beneath their feet, beyond which the new Champs Elysees stretched. Willow stared at the control panel the whole way down without saying anything, suddenly fascinated with the city's west wing. Not that Emma was spying on her out of the corner of her eye! She could feel her heartbeat at full speed beneath her serene appearance. What would happen if he refused? She had spent the previous four years getting used to the idea of dying (or whatever that was to be called). A hope so close to the end was as much a miracle as it was a curse. Her gaze soon fell on the fine lines of bronze decorating the elevator's glass window as it continued its descent and returned to Willow. Her eyes were still plunged into the screen in front of her. As the elevator announced the sixteenth district some ten minutes later, she braced herself. She moved closer to the human, grabbing her hand gently. She was startled but did not try to avoid it, her eyes still frozen; she probably squeezed her fingers more than usual. Emma caressed the back of her hand to reassure her. Everything would be alright. No matter what happened, no matter what the answer was, everything would be fine as long as they stayed together. The opening of the elevator doors ripped them from their contemplation. With a smile, Emma gently pulled Willow towards the exit.

Level sixteen. Soul Square was the strangest place you could find in Paris. The vast oval square was lined up with shops, and in its centre, surrounded by pillars, the Fountain of Souls stood sumptuously. The plaza gave way to a long alley on its left and, at the far end of the square, to the new Champs Elysées, the Arc de Triomphe dominating the district in the distance. The fountain and its pillars were covered with thousands of candles and engraved names. Those were the offerings of thousands of visitors every day, to watch over the souls of their dead. It was a tradition. The fountain was said to protect the dead in the afterlife. High-up above their heads, a mist always floated over the square. Strewn with a multitude of shades, it looked like a thousand multicoloured coils, twirling endlessly. Some said they were the souls that the square protected. Emma had never seen it for herself, but it was told that at sunrise, when the fog lifted, the souls of the hundreds of names engraved the day before would leave the stelae and fly away to join those time had long ago taken away.

The sun flooded the busy square and its early market, passing through the veil of fog with disconcerting ease. Emma stepped forward silently, Willow's fingers still intertwined with her own. It gave her courage. They made their way through the crowd and reached the fountain where they were to meet the man. As they waited there, sitting on the ledge, Willow suddenly asked. "How come you never left the upper town? You always hated that place."

Emma remained silent for a few seconds, allowing her gaze to wander across the blue sky before she answered. "Mom's house. I could never part with it. I probably would have ended up leaving, I suppose, if I had had the time."

"You could come live with us in the suburbs," Willow suggested with hope.

She didn't answer, merely observing her feet before looking back at their surroundings. For a moment, Emma felt tempted to let herself get carried away by the sound of her wheels to escape reality, but she was pulled from the numbness by a deep voice. "You are the doll," affirmed the newcomer.

She looked up and found herself face to face with a man in his sixties. His features were hollow, his face bearing the mark of a long-gone candour. The wrinkles on the sides of his mouth were seemingly the last remains of a physiognomy that time had wreaked havoc. He examined her for a few minutes, unsure why he was there. "I could recognise one doll among a thousand humans. Blindfolded."

Emma looked away from his insistent look, embarrassed. She felt the Maker probing her a moment longer before laying eyes on Willow. He let out a small laugh. "How are you possible?" he asked with curiosity, lifting his patched suit jacket to pull out an old pipe that felt odd in his hands.

"I was adopted by a philosophy professor living in the twentieth. I've lived with her all my life, and…"

"You've been bought," he cut her off. "There's no such thing as doll adoption."

Her gaze came back to him immediately.

"You understood me," she said curtly, "I inherited her house and her possessions when she died."

"The locals let this happen?"

"There's no law to prevent a doll from being free and having possessions," Emma clarified. "Although the law does allow slavery."

The scientist shot the pipe with an embarrassed grimace. "You were created to serve; it is not slavery," he answered back.

"I laid low," she continued without paying attention to his words, "and sending a mercenary above level fifteen is impossible. They could never do anything against me, legally or illegally, so here I am."

"Why should I help you?" he finally said, bored with the conversation, not even bothering to remove the pipe from between his lips anymore.

"Why would you be here if you weren't considering it?"

The old man smiled despite himself, his hand went to his chin, and he rubbed his nascent beard for a moment. "I came because Gil wanted me to; that's the only reason I'm here. He wanted me to meet you. I saw you. But I made my decision the minute he told me about you. Don't get your hopes up; I won't help you," he finally said after watching them both for a long time without batting an eyelid.

"But you could?"

"Maybe."

Emma felt Willow seething by her side. "Why?" she asked before her friend could blow up.

Once again, a sign of discomfort was slightly showing on the doctor's features before he immediately repressed it. He hesitated for a moment; his eyes creased imperceptibly, small wrinkles forming at the corner of his eyes.

"I have nothing to gain," he replied wearily. 

"We could give you the house," Willow attempted, earning an outraged gaze from Emma. The latter replied in a heartbeat that it was out of the question.

"I don't want your possessions!" the Maker laughed. "Besides, why in heaven would I want to go up and live among a bunch of useless bourgeois whose only occupation is to find new ways to get rich? No. As I told you, it wouldn't do me any good to help you at all. I'm done with Dolls."

"What would you like? Willow asked. I would do anything; just give us your price!"

"No." Emma was already standing up. "I'm done. You can go home, sir; we don't need your help."

Her tone was icy. Before he had even had time to answer a thing, she had turned around and was leaving. After a second of panic, Willow got up in turn and ran to catch up to her. Before she could get a few meters in between them, he stopped her. "Believe me, that's the best that can happen. She'd survive, and then what? Live like a Pariah? She's lucky she's been allowed so much time." Willow cast him one last cold glare before she followed her friend into the crowd. Emma didn't stop until she got into the elevator and banged her knee violently against the control panel's iron frame as the doors closed. She closed her eyes for a moment, her head resting against the wall. When she finally turned back, she gave Willow a stern look.

"Don't you ever do that again!" She warned her.

"Try to save your life?"

"I don't stoop to begging a human. I will never."

She had never been like this before. She had never heard her own voice say a word as hatefully as she was saying "human" now. Emma wasn't sure she'd ever felt such anger. She fell silent and flopped into a corner of the elevator against the large bay window, allowing her gaze to wander outwards, not really seeing it. Facing her, Willow remained silent, frozen. Her heart beating fast, she stared at the doll, curled up in a corner. When the doors finally opened, she approached her and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Emma. We're here," she whispered.

Emma's eyes fluttered for a moment, lost. When she finally met Willow's gaze, calm had returned to her. For a moment, she was blinded by the light as she regained awareness of the sun above their heads. They walked out into the silent street. Behind them, the elevator doors closed, putting a final stop to the events that had just happened, five levels under them. In Gateway Square, trees had begun to lose their foliage a few weeks earlier. Fall was well underway. The orange lighting of the season contrasted with the sterile white walls of the twentieth-floor buildings. Coming here was like entering another dimension; as if the rest of the world didn't exist. In fact, it was likely that most of the inhabitants at such heights were not even aware that others were really living under their feet.

"Let's go," the doll said softly after a moment of silently looking around her, lost in her thoughts.

When Willow turned towards her, a smile had found its way back to her lips. They returned peacefully to the apartment. No sooner had the house owner passed the door frame, a ball of red fluff wrapped itself around her legs. Lucky, her cat, raised a reproachful look towards her, signalling in a series of mewing the delay on its food.

*******

The sun was setting when she went up and joined Willow on the roof. She found it hard to swallow at the sight of the human staring absently at the artificial horizon. She wavered, suddenly feeling dizzy and anguished. She had no idea how she was going to break the news to her best friend.

"Hot cocoa?" she asked, offering one of the cups she was holding in her hands.

Willow turned to her and grabbed the cup with a smile; her eyes slid to the floor as Emma sat beside her. "Let's stop there," she finally said after a long silence.

Willow looked up at her. A panicked expression passed in her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"There's nothing to be done about it, Wil; it's time to face it. It's been planned since the day I was created. I'm programmed to stop."

"I refuse to believe there's no way to change that."

"There was one; he just said no, that's all."

The doll gently turned around and lifted her curly hair, revealing the semi-circular hole in her nape. It was the place the key should have been, allowing the winding mechanism in her body to be rewound. 

"I'm familiar with this. Why are you showing it to me?"

"I'm part of a trial run. This mechanism allows me to have a much longer but defined life span," she says, letting her hair down and turning back to her friend.

"I know!" Willow protested.

"This system was abandoned because it did not meet human expectations," Emma continued without paying attention to the interruption.

"You're human."

A smile passed over Emma's childlike features before she answered.

"No, I'm not." Emma paused. "Look at this place, Wil. These people are waiting for the slightest mistake on my part to put me back in a cage. Do you really think, in the unlikely event that one of them can save me, they'd bother? To be honest, the best thing that could happen to me would be to spend a week running around for nothing. The worst that they reset me like a broken machine. There's one thing that man was right about. You don't enslave a machine because it has no other purpose than to serve."

"I will never let that happen."

"I know, and that worries me even more. I know the kind of trouble you could get into. I've known you all your life, Wil."

"Your mother thought we'd find a way, that we had plenty of time for that. She always did."

"I know. It didn't go exactly as she had planned, did it?"

Willow shook her head before looking up at her friend.

"You can't talk like that. I don't want to let that happen. I won't let you go."

"You don't have a choice. I'm not going to spend the last week of my life chasing a few minutes of reprieve that I won't get," Emma scolded.

They settled for a moment before Emma spoke again.

"I'm sorry... I don't want to hurt you, but I can't spend the little time I have left running. Just let me enjoy this last week with you, okay?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Willow biting her lip, but she eventually nodded.

"I understand," she whispered in a breath. "It's all right."

Emma gently grabbed her friend's chin between her fingers and invited her to look up. Pain filled her when she noticed the tears running down her cheeks without control. In an impulse, she wrapped her arms around her friend, letting her collapse against her, halfway between laughter and tears.

"It's going to be alright," she whispered. "You'll see, everything will be alright."

"Can you believe me? You're the one dying, and I'm the one in your arms being comforted."

"It's easier to be the one who leaves than to be the one who stays," Emma mumbled as she gently fondled her friend's hair. "But it's going to be okay. We'll get through this. You'll get through this, I know you."

Later that night, she stayed awake, wrapped in blankets, her knees folded as she sat in her mother's old armchair. The street was dark, only lit up by the full moon's blue glow in an ink sky. Her gaze wandered outside for a few more minutes, through the large bay window of her room, before it slid over the half moonlit room and soon returned to the ball-shaped form, asleep in her bed.

They had stayed on the rooftop until late, sitting on a pile of blankets and cushions, their hands tightly bound. The sunset had long been replaced by the starry night when, tired, they had decided to return home. But Emma couldn't sleep. What would happen to her friend when she was gone? People had always assumed the human to be the strongest under her stubborn and fearless airs. But anyone who got to know them better knew that looks were deceiving. Willow had grown fragile over the years, especially after being forced to flee the past to the suburbs with her father after her mother's lay-off. The event had destroyed her mother. After several months of depression, she had walked on the frames surrounding level fifteen in the early hours of Christmas morning. Barefoot, still wearing her dressing gown, she had finally thrown herself into the void. No one had ever known whether she was conscious of her actions at that moment or whether the melancholy had finally overcome her, and in a daze, she had left without even realising it.

The trauma of her mother's death had changed Willow. Emma had felt responsible for her ever since. Too exhausted to get back to bed, she pulled the blanket tight around her and fell back into the massive leather armchair. She stared into space for a moment before finally, she fell asleep.

**_Year 350, Brumaire 1rst. Nine days before the shutdown_ **

The doorbell woke her up in the early morning. Willow hadn't moved an inch. Dragging the blanket with her half the distance to the door before finally dropping it, Emma sleepily walked through the apartment. She blinked her eyes a few times, hoping it would suffice to make her look more awake before she opened the door. A wrist popped out in front of her eyes as she pulled the door open, and she was startled. On its right side, she couldn't miss a small semi-circular winding slot and a little watch face, a replica of the one she had in the back of her neck. Stunned, she looked up at the newcomer, now fully awake. She immediately recognised him from his raven hair and his faded patched-up three-piece suit. He was in total contradiction with the rich and perfectly arranged decoration surrounding them. His expression was somewhat elusive as he spoke.

"I'm sorry he refused."

Carefully, Emma took another look at his arm, now back along his flank, as if to make sure she hadn't dreamt it. In a detached way, she raised an interrogating eyebrow.

"He saved my life. I wanted him to give you that chance."

"He didn't."

"I know," he stammered. 

"Could you do it yourself?" she asked curiously.

The young man stared at her for a moment.

"I'm just a watchmaker. The work of a Maker is more subtle. It's at the crossroads of being a watchmaker and a surgeon."

"No worries. I wish you did. It would have saved me from leaving Willow alone."

She shrugged her shoulders. Leaving the door open, she turned around and approached the armchairs of the large main room. She plumped down on one of them, disturbing the cat who jumped on the floor and fled to the stairs. The door of the cat flap swayed in a creak, then silence returned.

Standing still on the doorstep, the young watchmaker seemed unsure if he was invited in.

"What's your name?" Emma asked him without moving further from her seat.

"Gil. He answered."

He finally seemed to make up his mind and crossed the threshold. She was sitting in a lazy position on the sofa, her neck tilted backwards, eyes closed. 

"Mhmm, got you." She straightened her head a little to find a more comfortable position and looked at him. After a moment of further hesitation, he stepped further forward and looked around. The main room was a large living room with an open kitchen. Unexpectedly, the impression of luxury that pervaded the whole neighbourhood seemed to have been meticulously ransacked by the owner.

"I'm really sorry," catching Emma's curious look, he continued, "I thought he would accept. He's scared, that's all."

Faced with her lack of response, he took a step back and his gaze returned to his feet.

"You probably want me to leave."

He waited for a moment for an answer that did not come. Then he slowly turned his heels.

"Not really."

He suddenly turned his head towards her, taken aback.

"I don't want you to leave." After a slight pause, she spoke again. "It's good to know I'm not the only one."

"Yes." 

The answer was concise. Despite the awkward atmosphere, it was comforting to talk to another doll, to know that someone could understand her feelings and life.

"Who is he to you?" she asked.

"He's my father."

Emma chuckled darkly.

"Dr Nephins doesn't sound like a man who would adopt a Doll."

"He learned to behave like a man who wouldn't. In the same way that you and I learned to pretend to be human," he rectified. The tone of his voice was a lot cooler, but he remained calm.

"It was his own words. Dolls don't get adopted. They're bought."

"And he knows that better than anyone."

"You can't call it slavery; machines are meant to serve?"

Gil remained silent for several minutes before answering. Without really thinking about it, he pulled out a chair of his own, aware of her eyes following his every move.

"I've heard that all my life. He's heard it all his." His voice softened. "He's a Maker. We've always been surrounded by other Makers and members of the doll business. So even if he disagreed, there's not much to say to change these people's minds. He quit the business when I was thirteen and retired. It could have ended just like that. But when they found out he stole one of his designs, we got in big trouble. We were forced to flee to the slums, dad and I. Mom stayed up with my sister; she made them believe that he destroyed me before taking his own life. She was a wonderful actress." He laughed sadly.

"Have you ever seen her again?"

He shook his head.

"She died less than a year later. Cancer."

"I'm sorry. Is that why he refuses to have anything to do with a Doll?"

"He doesn't want to risk being found."

He watched Emma for a few minutes before he asked.

"How did you get here?"

"My mother was a philosophy teacher. She thought that everyone deserves the same chances, so when she decided to adopt a child, she came looking for me."

Willow slowly opened her eyes. She smiled and wrapped herself comfortably in the sheets, ignoring the distant knot in her stomach. The sun was already high in the sky; it was a beautiful day. She lay down in bed, enjoying one last peaceful moment before starting a new day. As she stared at the ceiling, the sound of something falling, followed by a curse and then a burst of laughter came from the living room. She got up, picked up a sweater and put it on before she walked to the main room, following the voices. Emma was bustling around in the kitchen, smiling and engaged in a seemingly enthralling talk with a young man she didn't recognise right away.

"Typical!" He was smiling. "Level one is where you can hear it best. This was my sanctuary when I was younger. No one ever thought to look for me there."

"Really? I've only been there once."

"The ruins of the Paris subway are a gold mine. The resonance is perfect; it sounds like a temple."

Emma burst into laughter despite herself. Willow felt a wave of jealousy run through her, frustrated that she didn't even understand what they were talking about.

"What's going on?" she asked as she approached them.

She sat down in the kitchen, and Emma turned to her with a big smile that immediately warmed her heart.

"Hey there!" she exclaimed. Stepping behind the newcomer, she put a kiss on her hair. "Slept well?"

"Mm."

"Gil came by to check on us."

Willow took another look at him, and this time his features immediately came back to her, the watchmaker of the fifth. She nodded and smiled shyly at him before returning to pouring herself cereals. 

"Does Dr Nephins know you're here?" she asked without looking up.

Gil wriggled slightly; an embarrassed look tinted his features. He didn't answer immediately, but his head moved from right to left.

"He doesn't have to know everything I do," he muttered back.

Willow relaxed imperceptibly at that moment. Her hand stopped playing restlessly with her spoon, and she let herself go against the back of her chair.

**_Year 350, 9 Brumaire. Day of the shutdown_ **

The week went by incredibly quickly. Gil stayed by their side most of the time. He seemed to be enjoying their company. They spent most of their time together, hanging out in the lower levels, soaking up in their atmosphere. Sometimes, however, they would simply sit on the rooftop and watch the city's lower levels through the cogs of the borough, laughing, talking about what to do the next day, the places they would like to see, everything that made their lives. Willow liked to think that they had become friends when the ninth morning of the 350th Brumaire following the winter revolution arrived. She wanted to imagine that with more time, life with them would have been lovely. They met before dawn, on that last morning, and climbed up to the Elysée Palace. The city's upper floor was tranquil at that hour, still empty of the tourists and other idlers who usually hung out there. They settled down on the edges of the platform, watching in the distance the plains and forests that stretched as far as the eye could see. Her legs swinging peacefully over the void, Emma knew she should have felt some fear, but she couldn't take her eyes off the rising sun in the west. The dome was seamless. What really was beyond it? At that height, the ticking sound that rose from the hear of the city was but a ghostly sound carried faintly by an artificial breeze. Gil put his hands behind him to lean backwards. Willow let her head slide over Emma's shoulder. Sitting on the edge of their world at dawn, the very first rays of sunlight warming up their faces felt like freedom. It was almost a paradise. They let this feeling of well-being last for a few moments in silence before Gil finally spoke. "You do know that the sun's path is a programming error?"

Willow moved her head to look at him with an interrogative look out of the corner of her eye. "Naturally, the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Initially, the dome functioned the same way, but a few weeks after it was started, the mechanism jammed. The city was plunged into darkness for more than three days. When it was repaired, they accidentally altered the trajectory. And it was never changed." Without answering, Emma glanced at the star as it continued its quiet race toward awakening. "Why did they never correct the defect?" she asked, her attention returning to him. He got lost in contemplation a moment before he answered. "They lacked time. The dome was put in place after the last war because the atmosphere outside was poisoned. The authorities had other problems to deal with than the course of the sun. In time, people just got used to it."

Emma rose to her feet, startling Willow, who was dozing off on her shoulder; she looked out over the distant plantation floors and the swamps. The Seine had long since flowed out of her bed there. Her gaze sometimes stopped at a few ruins of buildings and railroads. She silently contemplated the only world she had ever known. Her gaze finally landed on the elevated train line that ran southward, linking the Dome Cities together. Willow stood up beside her. Returning to reality, Emma turned towards her. She smiled and stretched. "I'm gonna get some food. Can I get you anything?" "I'll have a croissant." Said Emma. Gil nodded his approval, and Willow went on her way towards the shops starting to open in the square behind them. Bringing a knee towards her to rest her chin, Emma looked to the horizon again, trying to gather some courage. After a few seconds of silence, she finally started. "Can I request something from you?" She felt the watchmaker's gaze turn to her, nodding in agreement. "When I'm gone, will you take care of her?" She glanced at Gil, who gazed at her for a moment without answering, pensive. "She acts like everything's fine, but I know it's not. I don't want her to be on her own," she said. "Of course," he replied. Aren't you going to talk about it?" he asked after a second of hesitation. "I don't like goodbyes."

He didn't need to speak for her to understand that he got it. Their respective gazes plunged back to the horizon. With a small laugh, Emma tapped her shoulder against his. He smiled. "Thank you," she whispered, eyes still lost far away. "You're welcome."

They didn't have to wait very long until Willow came back. She let herself back to their side and lay down on the ground, a shiver running through her body at the feeling of the cold iron. They stayed there for a while longer, enjoying the quiet, slowly warming atmosphere. When they returned home, the sun was already high in the sky. They walked back down to the square, towards the elevator. Their footsteps were loud on the iron framework of the stairs that led to the district's edge. As the doors opened, Emma turned around and glanced one last time at the vast palace, once upon a time dismantled and reassembled there, buildings and gardens. Her heart felt heavy. The descent seemed almost too fast. In the distance, on level eighteen, she looked at the Eiffel Tower and the Trocadero Palace, already filling up with people. She breathed slowly, getting back into the present moment. When the doors opened again, she was the first to leave the compartment with a joyful step. They walked towards the apartment in silence. The morning was warm for the season. She hadn't said anything, but she already felt the beating in her rib cage beginning to subside. She didn't know exactly when it would stop, but she was aware that the deadline was painfully close now.

She knew something was wrong the moment they entered the lobby. The caretaker cast them a sideways glance before hurrying back to her dressing room. They slowly climbed the stairs in a strange, almost oppressive silence. Something was not right. As if the walls themselves were frightened by a danger yet to be known but getting closer. When they finally reached the top floor, they found the door to the apartment ajar. Emma's heart leapt in her chest. They carefully entered the main room, bathed in the light of the rising sun. Everything seemed to be as she had left it in the morning. "Lucky?" she called in the empty apartment. "Lu…"

"The cat went that way." If she had had a heart, she probably would have had a heart attack when an unknown voice answered her. She turned around with a startled look to find a man dressed in a black uniform watching them, standing against the wall. He pointed vaguely towards the staircase leading to the roof. Beside him, Emma felt Gil tensing up sharply. This didn't bode well. The man pulled himself away from the wall and stepped closer. "Emma Reed?"

"It depends on who's asking, I guess…" she replied with mistrust.

The man sniggered. "I think you're gonna come with me." He said. She tensed up even more. Before she could answer, he continued. "I could wait for you to be done to get you, of course. That's the procedure. Bringing back the remnants. But you and I know your little friends here would… Take issue in that, and you wouldn't want them to get hurt, right?

None of them answered him anything. Gil took a quick look around him, seemingly looking for an escape, struggling to keep his cool. Emma raised an eyebrow, and behind her, Willow was shaking. "What are you going to do to her?" she asked. "Just getting back the Guild's property. They'll probably reprogram it or something." Willow was livid. "That's murder." She whispered. "You can't murder something that isn't alive." Carelessly said the man, giving them a condescending look. "Who are you?" Emma asked. "Hugo Kealy." Answered Gil before the man had time to say it didn't matter. "He's one of the watchdogs of the corporation. He takes care of their dirty work."

"Smart kid, I see? The man took a quick look at Gil. "He's right. I'm on the security detail for the Makers Guild."

"You're dreaming," whispered Willow, "you won't get her".

"Wait."

Emma watched him for a few seconds with resignation. She reached out to Willow, signalling her to be quiet and exchanged glances with Gil, who shook his head, terrified. She gave him a reassuring smile.

"I'm going with you." She said. "I have only one condition. They're safe and free to go." She showed her friends with a gesture of her hand. "What?" Willow said, anxiousness piercing in her voice.

Emma felt the beats that regulated her life go wild. She moved one step closer to the man. Behind her, Willow was still asking her to explain herself, to stop this, but she didn't dare to answer. She was too afraid that upon hearing her own voice trembling, all her resolutions would go up in smoke. She could not allow Willow to be hurt. Nor could she allow Gil to be apprehended and for them to understand who he was. She had no choice. Surprisingly, despite her fast-beating heart, despite the room that suddenly seemed spinning around her, she felt perfectly serene. It was the right thing to do. She would die, one way or another. It might as well be protecting loved ones. Maybe then would it at least feel like all this had a purpose. "Look at me!" Willow screamed as she grabbed her arm.

Only then she turned around and looked into her friend's eyes. The world suddenly came into focus. "It's gonna be alright. You know it will. Just let me do this."

Willow shook her head, a shiver ran down her spine. But she resigned herself. As Emma walked through the front door under the amused gaze of her guard, she heard her voice for the last time.

"I'll find you! I promise I'll find you," she tried to ignore the tears piercing in her voice. "I won't let them do this to you! I'll find you, and no matter what it takes, I'll remind you of who you were!"

Emma closed her eyes. She engraved these last words in her memory along with the face who mattered most to her. Only a few hours remained before Emma disappeared forever. In the meantime, she just wanted to believe. Even if it was only for a minute, even if it was only for a second. She wanted to believe it was forever. That she would never forget that face and those words.

**_Year 350, 12 Brumaire. Three days after the shutdown_ **

Willow put down her candle, stood up and observed the name she had just engraved. Almost invisible among the thousands of others that adorned the Fountain of Souls, it was yet there. Slowly, she stepped back and left the circle of stelae, watching in silence the square as the first ray of sunlight pierced above her head. In a matter of seconds, the first colours started adding to the orange light of the early morning. The spectacle was probably the most beautiful she had ever seen. Thousands of multicoloured coils escaped from the stelae, gliding endlessly around the large square. The popular belief was probably just a belief. But if there was a chance for the so-called Souls square to truly protect lost souls, then perhaps, just perhaps, it would allow Emma's to find her way back to her.


End file.
